North Diamond Peak

Somewhere, there is a summit. Somewhere, a bed of diamonds. Somewhere, a father back from the mines and telling his boy, Give her enough time, and this coal will turn into diamonds. Somewhere, a boy opening a shoebox each month, hoping each time. Somewhere, a boy running down into a holler filled with smoke and into a house on fire shouting, I’ve got to save our diamonds. These lungs racket with cinder and smoke. Every step a faith in the kicked-out half-steps of the runners who came before, a trust that this tailwind will not turn, that one day that box will be filled with diamonds. Never have I wanted so much not to die, to never look over my shoulder, to keep pressing each heavy leg up this mountain of rock until my mouth fills with sky.

 

LUCIEN DARJEUN MEADOWS